And So, It Ends
by owltattoo
Summary: The last thoughts of 22 tributes. 74th Hunger Games.
1. 24: District 9 - M

I heard once in the mill some chick got her hair caught in one of the gears. Ripped her head clean off. I guess that's why they make them wear their hair up.

I don't mind it. I like those little bobbling balls on top of their heads. I like watching them as they work.

Liked.

Ha, it was fun to bat at them on their way back from their lunch. I mean they weren't amused, but I sure as hell was. That's my way of flirting. It usually works, too.

They got all sheepish and pink and their cheeks turned into those round little mounds. They'd titter and swat my hand away, and sometimes I'd leave them alone. Sometimes I'd grab them by the waist and whisper something naughty in their ear. They'd usually smack me in the chest, giggling, and run away to their friends.

Then they'd meet me later in the wheat fields, and I'd make them giggle, then sigh, then moan, panting, mewl and scream. Go limp.

And I'd leave them there. They all knew my reputation. Knew they wouldn't last longer than a night, knew they wouldn't get the intimacy they daydreamed about when they first learned about their precious virginities and how they were meant to lose them. But they all came around anyway, sacrificing their perfect, post-marital, first-coital experience. They all deluded themselves into thinking that they'd be the one, the one of hundreds, who would change me.

And when my name was called, when I was escorted onto the stage, when some of them gloated at my misfortune and others showed indifference or feigned worry, I realized that the last four years were wasted seeking minutes of immediate satisfaction. No one would truly mourn me, because no one had truly known me. And now, they wouldn't. Couldn't.

Any big shot can be gunned down. That's the point of the Games, I think. They keep our hubris in check.

The cannon roars. Gunned down. Ha.

I'm struggling over a backpack with the girl from 12 who earned an 11 when the knife pierces my back. I can't help but feel amused by how death equalizes us all, and no one is who they seem.

And so, it ends.

* * *

A/N: This series of vignettes will chronicle the last thoughts of the 74th Hunger Games' 22 losing tributes.

Please let me know what you think. I'm trying to portray a different personality, level of development, and region with each tribute. Any critique is welcome.


	2. 23: District 10 - F

When Ma had me an' my brother Loe, she swore that we must've declared war in her womb. "I sewanee," she laughed, after the second time I broke Loe's nose, "y'all ain't gone two minutes without fighting your whole lives!"

We don't fight no more, though.

I swear it was an accident. But she never believed me, not really. After Loe passed, Ma got mean. I don't much blame 'er. It changes you, don't it? Losin' a piece of your heart.

'Course, Ma never thought about how I coulda felt. Nah, she was too busy bein' mad at me.

We was supposed to go milk the cows. That was what we was supposed to do. But Tack had called me a frigid hell-bitch in front of everyone in the stables. I didn't like that one bit, 'specially 'cause he was tellin' me I was pretty and tryin' to put his dick in me the week past. I guess he didn't like that I said no. But don't you know it, Loe hadta jump in an' protect my "honor" or some such other horse shit. I tell ya, I liked that less.

We was supposed to go milk the cows, but I ran down to the bridge over the river.

It was somethin' amazin' once, hadta be. Nothin' that big an' old gets to keepin' around without engineerin'. Not that I'd know much about that. Ma always said I was dumber than a donkey's behind. I don't think I was, not really. It's just hard to get your words out when they're movin' so fast in your head. Ma thought I was some kinda retarded 'cause of that.

I ran to the bridge over the river. I liked lookin' at the water rushin' below. Its swiftness helped my head slow down.

Dunno how long I was there afore Loe showed up. Ten minutes, less. I didn't want anythin' to do with 'im. "Go away," I hollered. I musta thought I'd scare 'im away by being loud. Sure scared some birds. Loe, though, he didn't scare so easy.

We got to yellin' back an' forth. Bringin' up things we thought we'd buried, things like hair pullin', name callin', rumor millin', back stabbin'. As twins do. The past has an ugly way of comin' back around, don't it?

When we'd yelled ourselves hoarse we got to pushin'. That bridge used to be somethin'. But now, it's full of holes, pointed edges, rusted iron hid deceptively beneath rotted wood. Just one misstep would send ya' into the river.

We got so heated we didn't neither of us remember where we was. And when push got to shove, as they say, I pushed Loe right through a rusty ol' guard rail and into the river.

They didn't never find the body. That's good. I don't think I coulda looked at his face after that, probably bloated and waxen.

But Ma never believed me. I was the Cain to his Abel. I got that from the book under her bed. She don't read it, but she keeps it, she said, 'cause it makes her mistakes look like rat turds, comparatively. Sins, she called 'em.

That book talks a lot on forgiveness. Guess she never read that far.

Maybe it's a good thing. Lessens the loss. I figured it was okay when they pulled my name outta that jar. No one'd miss me, least of all Ma. Hell I probably wouldn't miss myself. She'd be glad to be rid of me, the beast what killed her sunshine.

I thought she'd be glad. But when I turned and faced the crowd, her face turned the color I figured Loe's would have been if we'd found 'im. She looked like she'd never see light again, and her eyes got shiny, and she left.

My Ma left me. She left me to die.

And here I am, standin' on this podium, and the cannon is blastin', and I'm runnin', and I need something anything I can use to stay alive. The sword arcs toward me.

And so, it ends.

* * *

A/N: District 10 is cow country. I envision this accent as a mix of Oklahoma and Mississippi.


End file.
